


East Wind, Oncoming Storm

by Cat_Francis



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Francis/pseuds/Cat_Francis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor, Donna Noble, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Molly Hooper versus the Master, her companion, Jim Moriarty, and Seb Moran. And clones. And trying to take over the world. Hints of Sherlolly in future chapters; special appearances by Martha Jones, Mary Morstan and baby Watson. [rated T for reasonable violence (mostly guns); spoilers up to Sherlock s3 and Doctor Who s4]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel: Martha and Molly

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, lovely readers, I won't make this long but I wanted to pop in at the beginning and say hello. Also, the rating is for the fic in general but there are some chapter that will get a higher rating and a trigger warning which I will put here; this is supposed to be fun, not stressful. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

Just outside of St Bart's Hospital in London, England, there was a loud scratching, humming, whirring, buzzy noise that sounded like a key being drawn across piano wires. A light began to glow and underneath the light, the TARDIS faded into existence until it was solid and blue and looked as if it had always stood, inconveniently, in the middle of a sidewalk in front of the hospital. The door opened and the Doctor stepped out with Martha close behind.

"See, I told you I could do it. London, England, what you call 'the present'," he said, turning in a slow circle to make sure he really had gotten it right. "And look, I've even brought you right to the hospital doors and everything." He beamed at Martha and she could do nothing but smile back. She would never be able to figure out how the Doctor had perfected the ability to smile so innocently as his eyes sparkled with such mischief.

"Yes, very impressive, Doctor," she said. Then she turned back to the TARDIS and whispered, "thank  _you_."

"Only a few minutes, though. We have to make sure everything is ready for our to-do tonight with Doctor Lazarus."

"Yeah, 'course. Won't be five minutes," Martha smiled as she hurried inside the building.

* * *

Molly Hooper was working steadily and carefully on the latest victim of the most recent serial killer terrorizing London. Lestrade had called her and told her to drop everything to find out how the man on her slab had died. Of course, she couldn't say anything but 'yes'. Sherlock would be coming in later for her report. Just a usual day.

Until the doors to the morgue swung open to reveal the last person Molly expected to see: Martha Jones. They had been friends in university when they were both studying medicine and had kept in touch after Martha had chosen to work with the living and fixable.

"Oh, Martha, hi!" she said brightly, if a little confused. After setting down the scalpel, pulling off the bloody gloves, and turning off the voice recorder so that it wouldn't pick up their conversation, she shrugged out of her lab coat so that when Martha inevitably grabbed her in a hug, the bits of Mr Cross wouldn't transfer to her lovely red leather jacket.

"Molly," Martha said, hugging her as expected, "I'm so glad to see you."

Molly hugged back but her mind had jumped into pre-panic mode. "Is there something wrong?" she asked cautiously, wondering what on earth would have brought the woman to see her in the middle of a work day. "I mean, I'm glad to see you too, but it hasn't been all that long! You're acting like you've been gone for ages but we had coffee just last week."

"Oh, right, yeah. It's just been a long…week. But how are you? Everything going well? Nothing too out of the ordinary?"

"Sit down, please. Sorry, I have to keep working, but I can talk at the same time."

"I won't be staying terribly long, I'm afraid. But tell me how you've been!"

"Okay, uh, pretty much the same as usual. What about you, though? What kind of a week have you had? It must have been pretty crazy."

Martha paused with a strange expression on her face, but then it was gone. "Just, uh, lots of work. I'm sure you know how it is," Martha said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Oh, do I! I'm helping on two other cases this week, on top of my regular work. I mean, I don't mind, but sometimes a break would be nice."

"Cases with, uh, Sherlock Holmes, right?"

Molly went red and cursed herself for it. He wasn't even here but he could still make her blush like a schoolgirl. Stupid cheekbones. Still, she tried to play it cool even though she knew Martha could see right through it. "Yeah, he's still around. Breezing in whenever he feels like it, asking to see bodies I've already processed the paperwork for and demanding body parts for whatever experiments he's doing at the time."

"He sounds like quite the character, Molly. You'll have to introduce me sometime." Martha said this cheerfully enough but Molly got the impression that her friend was distracted by something. She kept looking toward the door as if someone else had come with her and she was waiting for them to show up. Or hoping they didn't.

"Oh, he certainly is. But I get the feeling that you came here for a reason? You usually call ahead if you're going to stop by and it's the middle of the afternoon when you'd usually be at work."

"That detective of yours must be rubbing off on you," Martha said, winking at her. Molly blushed again, "But yes, I have something important to give you," she handed over a piece of scrap paper with a telephone number written on it.

"Is this your number? I already have it…"

"It's mine, but I had to change the number. Sort of an update. This is the first chance I've gotten to give it to you and I promised my ride I'd be quick, but just-" Martha took a deep breath, "if anything, I dunno,  _weird_  ever happens around here, call me, okay. This is important. Because there was some weird stuff happening at another hospital and I can't really explain because you wouldn't believe me," she trailed off, saying the last bit more to herself than to Molly.

"Martha, what's wrong? Why do you sound like you're going off to war or something? And as for weird, I cut open dead people for a living and, on the side, I help solve crimes with a detective who can't tell me apart from the rest of the lab equipment. My life isn't exactly average."

"No, I guess not. But seriously, Molly. If anything happens in a way that is weirder than what you're used to, please call this number, okay? Promise me."

Molly didn't know what to think. I mean, weird stuff happened with Sherlock all the time, it was part of the job, but somehow she got the feeling that Martha wasn't referring to chasing serial killers around the back streets of London. She was obviously upset by something and wasn't going to tell Molly what that was, so it was easier to just agree and try to figure it out later.

"Yeah, of course I will. Promise," Molly agreed, sticking the paper in her lab coat pocket.

"Thank you," Martha said, looking a bit relieved. "And now, I'm sorry but I've got to dash. I'm going to a party tonight with the- uh, a friend and I need time to get ready. And I promised him I'd only be five minutes."

Molly desperately wanted to jump on the "him" Martha had referenced but decided that if her friend was in a hurry now wasn't the best time to talk about it. "Oh, okay. Will you be free for coffee sometime?"

"Probably. Not sure when, exactly. I'll call you though, alright?"

"Sure," Molly smiled as Martha waved and then hurried out of the morgue. Then she turned back to Mr Cross who was waiting very patiently for her to resume her work. The dead were considerate like that.

* * *

Thankfully, the TARDIS was still where it been; she had been afraid that the Doctor might change his mind and fly away as soon as she was inside. Doctor Lazarus had obviously gotten him interested enough that he was staying…at least for now.


	2. Prequel: Donna Noble

**Hello again :) Sorry for the prologues but I didn't know how else to set everything up that needed to be set up. Anyway, this is the last of them and the story will start properly next Wednesday. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

  
—  _Approximately one year later —_

" _Do you know what's happening?"_

" _Yeah."_

" _There's never been a human-Time Lord meta-crisis before now. And you know why."_

" _Because there can't be."_

_There was silence as Donna moved around the console, trying to hide from the Time Lord in front of her and the terrible thoughts he was thinking. "I want to stay."_

" _Look at me. Donna, look at me."_

" _I was gonna be with you forever."_

" _I know."_

" _Rest of my life. Travelling in the TARDIS. The Doctor-Donna. Oh! Oh my g- I can't go back. Don't make me go back. Doctor, please. Please don't make me go back."_

" _Donna. Ah," the Doctor sighed as he put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes filled with tears, "Donna Noble I am so sorry-_

No!" The Doctor jumped away from Donna like he'd been stung. He ran his hands through his hair as his mind whirred through the possibilities. There was something, something he had forgotten about. Donna wasn't sure what was going on. Thirty seconds ago, she was sure he'd been about to erase her memories of her entire time travelling with him, but now she didn't know if she should cry or not.

"Doctor?"

"Oh, Donna I've been so slow. I've been thick, Donna. So incredibly thick. The Chameleon Arch. Oh, this is brilliant!" he hollered, spinning around to the other side of the console and pulling a lever. A headset dropped down, big and bulky, that had cables running up into the ceiling of the control room.

"Doctor, what's that?"

He stopped fiddling with the controls abruptly and stared at her, as if he couldn't believe she didn't understand. "Just told you: Chameleon Arch."

"Yeah, okay I know that bit but what does it do?" Donna said, crossing her arms. She hated when the Doctor went off about some alien thing and just expected her to keep up.

"Rewrites your biology. I used it once, a while ago, turned myself human, nearly forgot who I was. I almost didn't change back," he explained as he went back to fiddling and tinkering with switches and levers and wires.

Donna gasped as the Time Lord part of her brain caught up with the Doctor. "And you're going to use it to take away the Time Lord part of me; make me fully human again."

"That's the idea," the Doctor answered, not looking at her. "Oh, but a fob watch. I don't have mine anymore. Gave it away. Have to do without it," he decided as a bit of the machine flew past Donna's head. "But we need something…something to hold what we're taking away. Donna," he said, whipping around to face her again, "do you have something - anything - that could be a container of sorts. A necklace pendent or a watch, maybe or-"

"A ring?" Donna asked, holding up her hand. The stone shone dark and mysterious.

"Oh yes! Give it me, quickly."

"But Doctor, why the rush?" she asked as he took the ring and began wrapping the exposed wires around it.

"Because, Donna, your brain is burning up right now. Overheating. The faster we get the Time Lord part out, the safer you'll be."

"This is going to hurt, isn't it." Not a question.

"Yes, it is. And I am so, so sorry about that but it's the only thing I can think of that doesn't involved taking away all of your memories since we met," the Doctor explained as he twisted dials and flicked switches.

"Okay." The tears were back but Donna let herself be positioned with the strange headset over her ears, her ring dangling in front of her nose.

The Doctor flipped a switch and her world shrunk to pain and burning inside her head.

\--||--

When Donna opened her eyes, she was lying on the metal mesh floor of the TARDIS with a pounding in her head, right behind her eyes. The Doctor was sitting beside her with a steaming cup of tea.

"Donna?"

"Doctor? Why am I laying on the floor? Where is everyone?"

The Doctor smiled but she couldn't figure out why. "You're lying on the floor because you, um, well, you sort of fainted after hugging Jack. Maybe you don't remember. You went down pretty hard."

Everything felt too fuzzy in her head for her to be embarrassed, but she did vaguely remember something about the handsome captain. "Okay, but that doesn't explain where everyone is."

"Oh, they had to go home. Sarah Jane has Luke to look after and Martha and Mickey are joining up with Jack's Torchwood team. Jackie and Rose had to," he swallowed hard, "had to go home. Anyway, we've got things to see, you and me."

"B-but wasn't there someone else? Ugh, this headache's no fun. Haven't got any aspirin here, have you…Space Man?"

"No, sorry. None on board. But drink this, it'll help. Good old-fashioned tea," the Doctor beamed at her. "So, Donna Noble, where do you want to go first?"

 


	3. Episode 1: Supposed To Be Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man who was supposed to be dead finds something that was not supposed to exist.

A man who was supposed to be dead picked his way through the rubble of the factory that had once manufactured ATMOS units. It had been blown nearly to the ground after UNIT had bombed the factory in an effort to combat the Sontarans during their last attempt to invade the Earth and turn it into a breeding planet. Not that the man wearing the the expensive suit, who was supposed to be dead, cared much about the Sontarans. He cared about what his insider source had told was left in the in basement.What the man was really hoping had survived the firefight.

It had.

He found his way down the stairs, riddled with pockmarks from bullets and scorches from laser blasts and chips of concrete from the walls. At the bottom, was a long hallway with a thick metal door at one end. Before, the lights would have flickered on, triggered by movement, but now all was dark and quiet. There were still bodies of UNIT soldiers lying where they had died, red berets still on their heads.

The man reached the door and snapped his fingers. Another man, carrying a large gun and wearing a red beret himself, kicked at the metal. There was a loud, hollow clanging and the door crumpled inward to reveal a large room. The man in the suit pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and entered, followed by the UNIT soldier. Or rather, by the man whom everyone thought was a UNIT soldier.

In the small circle of light cast by the torch, both men could see a coffin-shaped stretcher on wheels, long enough for a person to lie down on. Beside it, and connected to it with a myriad of wires, was a long, low square that was a few feet high.

The man in the suit smiled. “Seb, find me the remote, if you please.” His voice was polite, but it was most certainly an order, not a request. Colonel Sebastian Moran did as he was told and handed the control pad over to his boss. “Thank you, dear.”

The man in the suit with the slight Irish accent manipulated the controls until a motor whirred and the lid began to rise. Inside was a foul-smelling, milky, turquoise-coloured liquid.

“Is this it, sir?” Moran asked quietly; his boss was known for an… unpredictable temper, to say the least. And he was acting on Moran’s information so if went badly, it would be Seb’s head. Literally.

“Indeed, it is. You did well, Colonel. This is a Sontaran cloning chamber. Well, was the Sontaran’s, but now it’s mine.”

Moran nodded like he completely understood the situation. Of course, he didn’t at all, but it wasn’t terribly important. He had found out the chamber was likely still in the basement and had passed along the information; just following orders.

“Alright, Seb, call in your men and start getting this loaded into the truck. It’s almost useless to us here. We’ll take it back to base,” the man said, walking back toward the door and the hallway. Then he stopped and looked the man who was not UNIT in the eyes, “And be careful with that liquid; treat it like your own blood…which will be used to replace every drop you spill.”

The man with the Irish accent and the expensive suit, who was supposed to be dead turned his back on Moran and left the factory, leaving no sign at all that he had been there. He was pleased at the find; he had contacts who would be mighty interested in it. And, of course, it posed certain benefits for himself.


	4. Episode 2, part 1: The Master Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master is back and this time she's got a companion too.

 

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while - life got in the way. But, here you go. Enjoy!**

* * *

The Master, in the most recent regeneration, kicked her heels against the wall and played the with the ring on her finger while Jenna piloted the spaceship through the void. The Master was irritated that she couldn't travel in time or through the Vortex as it would have made the flight so much more interesting. Or at least shorter. She needed something to distract herself from the tediousness.

"Oi, Jenna? You ever heard the story of the Oncoming Storm?" the Master called to the flight deck, toying with her long dark hair. Being female was a new experience but even the novelty of that had worn off too quickly.

"No, I don't think so," the young woman turned in the pilot's chair. The ship was on auto-pilot but she loved to watch the stars fly by and the space dust floating in thick clouds through the glass. "Is it from Gallifrey? You promised you would tell me stories."

"'Course it is. Actually, it's the nightmare tale told to Gallifreyan kids to keep them in bed at night. It did me. Kept me awake for years," the Master's honey brown eyes lit up with black glee. Everything about the Master was black and glittering: black combat boots, black tank top tucked into black jean shorts with black suspenders hanging down beside her legs, black leather jacket over top of everything; black mascara, black eyeshadow and black nail polish. Silver chains hung around her neck and assorted bracelets adorned her wrists. Only her lips were a feminine shade of pink. "Now come, sit at my feet while I tell you the story of every Time Lord's childhood nightmare; sit at my feet while I tell you the Legend of the Oncoming Storm," the Master declared theatrically.

"Oh, maybe I don't-"

"Nonsense. A promise is a promise. Sit down."

Jenna sat. The Master's raw energy and rebellious rule-breaking was intoxicating. Jenna had spent so long being the 'good girl' that breaking some rules was a relief now. They never did anything really  _wrong_  but it couldn't be said that she was solely on the side of the angels anymore. But she also wasn't completely against them either, as testified by her brightly striped cardigan.

"Now close your eyes."

"What, why?"

"Because I said so. That's how it's done," the Master laughed. "Close your eyes."

Jenna did so. The Master cleared her throat and prepared her best and most dramatic storytelling voice.

"Right, so a while back but not all that long ago, there was a Time Lord who turned bad. Pretty much the worst anyone can go. In the middle of the greatest war of our history, he ran away with a stolen ship. He was a coward and left his family and friends to fight because he couldn't. He decided that the rules no longer applied to him and started to work against the good that the Time Lords were doing. He started interfering. He played god with races and planets and histories and futures. He was named the Oncoming Storm.

He would arrive in a town, right, with his blue box that made horrible sounds like gears grinding together and metal scraping on metal. They became the sounds of destruction and despair to those who heard them. He would walk across the planet and decide whether or not he would allow the people who lived there to keep on living. Mothers would pray that he was in a good mood and fly away, leaving panic behind and another generation to grow up in fear of the day when he would not be so kind.

He was friends with murderers and those who travelled with him were drawn into deciding the fates of people they didn't understand. They were called the Children of Time and they were feared almost as much as the Oncoming Storm himself. They were once ordinary people, peaceful and content, until he arrived and seduced them with promises of glory and monster-fighting. But that was a lie meant to soothe them as he turned them into his own image, until they were willing to kill anything outside their own narrow definition of 'right'. Until they were willing to decide who was worthy of life and who was destined for death. Until they were the monsters they claimed to fight.

Because that's what the Oncoming Storm does: he turns people into weapons and claims no responsibility for their actions on the basis that they are the ones holding the gun. But no one seems to realize that he is the one telling them where to shoot. He is the worst of us and the most horrible thing? He believes that he is good and right. He believes he is a savior. But you can't let him fool you. He is a storm in every sense of the word and he will turn the world upside down, leaving you in the darkness. Be careful, child, because one day the Oncoming Storm will be coming for you."

There was silence in the ship as Jenna sat, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, in front of the Master. She swallowed hard. "But that's just a story, right? To scare little kids."

"Did it scare you?"

"Maybe."

"It's not just a story. Because I've met him. I've faced the Oncoming Storm and his terrible wrath."

Jenna's dark eyes widened further, "How did you escape?"

The Master shrugged. "I guess he was feeling generous. But, Jenna, don't you understand? We're going to stop him."

"What?"

"We are. That's where we're going now. The two of us, with some help from some people on Earth, 21st century. They're going to help us trap this menace and we're going to cage him up so he can't do anything horrible ever again."

"Don't you think," Jenna could hardly believe what she was saying, "that maybe a cage is too nice? I mean, he's committed genocide and murdered entire planets."

"I do think that a cage is too nice, now that you mention it." The Master stood and walked around, not looking at the other girl. "You know, we could decide to do something else."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Jenna, that even though this murderous renegade is a Time Lord, I'm one too."

"And-"

"Jenna, listen to me. I'm a Time Lord and you're my companion. We can make a decision right now to stop the Oncoming Storm for good. Forever. I understand if you don't want to help. But I've got to. You see that, right? All these horrible things he's done, he can't be allowed to continue. He just can't," the Master was pleading now.

Jenna rubbed at her temples where a headache was forming. "Yeah, of course that makes sense."

"If you don't want to help, that's okay. Once we get to Earth, you're free to go wherever you want and I'll do it myself," the Master's voice was so gentle, almost sad. "I don't want to do alone, I want- need your help. I don't have anyone else."

"How?"

"What?"

"How are we going to stop him?"

The Master smiled wide, "We get to Earth. I can't explain now, but I promise I will soon, okay?"

"Okay," Jenna sighed and got up to return to the flight deck.

"Jenna?" the Master touched her arm as she passed by and looked her right in her dark brown eyes, "I'm really glad you're going to help me."

\--||--

Jenna landed the spaceship in a large field outside London. Originally, the ship didn't have any kind of cloaking device which made it hard to land on 'primitive' planets, but the Master had done some tinkering and rigged up a sort of perception filter. This way, the ship was still there, but no one cared. They just sort of ignored it. Much easier than answering a lot of awkward questions.

"So, where are we going?" Jenna asked excitedly, as they jumped from the lower hatch onto the grass.

"We are going straight into the heart of London - that's the city you see in front of you - to find a man who's supposed to be dead," the Master answered, smiling at the other girl's enthusiasm.

"London," Jenna mused, trying out the word. "I like it. It sounds like a nice place."

"Come on!"


	5. Episode 2, part 2: In London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master finds her way through London to the house of a certain consulting criminal, looking to make a deal. Jenna takes the opportunity to explore a little on her own.

The Master and Jenna walked through the streets of London; the Master was clearly on a mission and heading somewhere specific. But Jenna kept falling behind, craning her neck to look up at the buildings and then down at the flowers in whatever park they were passing. She found it fascinating and would never get over the feeling of being on a new planet.

They stopped in front of a house that didn't look any different from the others on the street, except that there weren't as many flowers in the beds as there might have been.

"Where are we?" Jenna asked in an excited whisper.

"At the home of the man who is going to help us stop the Oncoming Storm once and for all," the Master's eyes were hard and suspicious. "Actually, Jenna, it might be better if I go in alone at first. Why don't you come back in, say, an hour? By then I'll have had time to make proper contact and everything."

"I don't want to leave you on your own, though."

"Oh, go on Jenna. Explore. I know you want to. And it's just going to be boring introductions and such. I'm sure you'd have much more fun looking around here. Besides, we both know I can take care of myself if I need to."

Jenna bit her lip and smiled. "Well, I would like to have a look around."

"Then go and meet me here in an hour. And Jenna? Be careful."

The Master knocked on the door and disappeared inside. As Jenna wandered away, hoping that her friend would be alright, the Master was led down a paneled hallway where old oil paintings were hung on the walls and an expensive carpet ran the length of the corridor. At the end was a set of double doors, finely carved out of rich, dark wood. Through the double doors was a fully stocked library, complete with fire burning in the grate. There was a man sitting next to it in a high-backed armchair. He was wearing an expensive suit and something about him seemed to suggest that he was supposed to be dead.

"I thought you'd be a man," he drawled in a slight Irish accent. "This is a pleasant surprise, though." He stood and straightened his black jacket. "You're the Master, I presume? Bit pretentious, isn't it, your name?"

"Mister Moriarty. I thought you'd be taller," the Master replied with a smirk, ignoring the jab.

" _Mister_  Moriarty is my brother; call me Jim, please." It was not a request.

"Mister Moriarty," the Master repeated, "I've been told you have a Sontaran cloning chamber. I'd be honoured to see it. I'm not convinced you know how to use it and I'd hate to see you break something."

Anger flashed across Moriarty's face before he regained his composure. "And what makes you say that? Who's to say I'm not using it right now?"

The library doors opened and another Moriarty entered, identical to the first but that his suit was light gray rather than black.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" the Master scoffed.

"Impressed? Well, it's a little obvious that you are," the new Moriarty said and then continued before the Master could protest. "So why don't you try impressing me. Which one of us is the clone?"

The Master smiled and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, Mister Moriarty, I'm afraid you're the one being obvious now. Clearly you," she nodded to the first Moriarty by the fireplace - the one in black, "are the clone. Biggest giveaway? You smell. Awful." The Master moved in for a closer inspection. "It's good, I'll give you that, but you're not going to fool anyone with a brain bigger than a teaspoon. But enough with these games, Mister Moriarty. Let's talk business."

—||—

Meanwhile, Jenna had found her way to a bridge - a big one, fancy with lots of arches - and stood looking at the water below, hardly able to take it all in. This planet was so different from the one she had been born on; here there were no guns to be seen and everyone lived aboveground. There was a sort of peacefulness too - her father would have liked it, she thought. He had always been against guns, though she knew he had once been a soldier himself. Maybe that was why he didn't like guns now; maybe they brought back memories he wanted to forget.

But this place, this  _London_  was different, too, from where she had met the Master. That had been a restaurant hovering in the middle of Time. Literally. You couldn't escape it; travel long enough and you'd reach it, regardless of your destination. They had the best scones in the universe.

Now, she was on an alien planet with aliens all around. They didn't look all that different that she could tell, but that didn't mean they weren't. In a moment of strange self-reflection, Jenna mused that to these people,  _she_  was the alien. She almost laughed out loud at the thought as she left the bridge in search of some new alien food to try.

It didn't take long before she found herself sitting at a table beside a vehicle that was selling food from inside. She didn't quite know how they managed to fit a whole kitchen inside a truck or how she should pay, but that was all part of the fun. She had ordered something called 'chips'. She had no idea what they were, but they smelled amazing. They tasted even better. This was a fun planet, Jenna decided as she finished the chips, and the food was to die for. She checked her watch: still twenty-five minutes before she was supposed to head back. She looked around at the people passing by, wondering how to spend the time.

—||—

The gray-suited - and real - Moriarty led the Master out of the library and into another room, this one was more like an office. He took a seat at the desk and put his feet up on it while gesturing for the Master to take the chair across from him.

"So, Master, to business. How did you know about the cloning chamber?  _You_  contacted  _me_ , remember?"

"I have my sources as, I believe, you have yours, Mister Moriarty. Besides, something that alien just hanging about on Earth? Wasn't that hard to trace. And yes, I did get in touch with you but only because there's no way you know how to make full and proper use of the technology you've acquired."

"And you do?"

"Well, yes. I'm offering to help-"

"In exchange for what?"

"In exchange for access to the chamber myself; I have some plans that would be accomplished much easier and quicker with its help."

"And what might those plans be?"

"Why should I tell you?" The Master asked, intentionally being difficult. She had no reason to tell Moriarty of her plans and he had no right to demand that information of her but, more importantly, it was just fun watching him get annoyed.

"Because it's my chamber."

"I believe it belongs to the Sontarans."

"Not anymore."

"Fair enough. But it  _is_  alien, and as the only alien here, I think that makes me the closest thing to an owner of the chamber. Maybe you should be telling me your plans."

"I don't take orders."

"Firstly, I think you do. Secondly, we both know you're dying to tell me all about your master plan, probably for revenge on one person or another. No doubt you've got it all worked out and there will be no way anything can go wrong this time, so why don't you just tell me. I'm the last person to judge you for boasting or being proud of your plan."

The Master watched Moriarty carefully, enjoying the conflicting emotions she could see playing across his face. He really was an open book. Clearly, he wanted to tell her his Grand Plan quite badly but the desire to keep power and control of this meeting was keeping him from sharing. She wondered which would win out in the end. She didn't have to wait very long.

Taking his feet down from the desk and leaning in toward her, Moriarty explained. "There is a man named Sherlock Holmes. You see, Master, I am a consulting criminal. Only one in the world. People come to me with their problems and I help them. That's all I do. I help people. Granted, it's usually by blowing other people up or faking deaths (and sometimes not faking them at all) or paying petty crooks who aren't destined to live very long earn a little extra cash to help the kids they never see. But all of these people are boring. They are ordinary. Dull. "

_You are too, Moriarty. Get on with it._

"Sherlock Holmes is the opposite. He is a bright light in a dark world and it has become my job to extinguish that light. The reason it's so very tantalizing to try and beat him is because he's so very good. We are so alike, him and I, but he refuses to admit it. Approximately two and a half years ago, he faked his death. As did I. However, he spent the next year and a half travelling around the world and taking down my carefully built network. This, you might imagine, I did not appreciate. And then, after all of that, he had the gall to come parading back like a hero from battle, like the bloody king of England himself. The time has come for him to pay for that insult as well as admit that I am the better of us two. That I've won. And then I will kill him."

"That's it? That's your great plan?" the Master giggled a little. "He faked his death too so now you have to beat him at something else? Fine. How exactly do you plan to get this revenge?"

"That's my business."

"Okay, keep your little secret. To be honest, I was just trying to be polite." The Master laughed again and then turned deadly serious, "Do you know what's at stake here, Mister Moriarty? Because I'm not interested in your petty revenge. My plans include the destruction of the only other member of my race I know for sure to be alive and the enslavement of an entire planet. So you might want to start dreaming a little higher, Jimmy my lad, because this is where the big boys play. There is a Time Lord, another one. I'm one of only two left in the entire universe. How far are you willing to go? Hmm? Would you kill off almost the entire population of humans on Earth to get revenge on this Sherlock Holmes? Because that's why I'm proposing for myself. This Time Lord, he's called the Oncoming Storm all through the cosmos, do you know what he does? He saves people. And expects nothing in return."

"That's it?"

"Actually, I wasn't finished. Not only does he save people, but he saved me. He saved me and  _forgave me_. Do you know what that's like? Imagine that Mister Holmes, instead of faking his death or whatever it was that happened, what if he forgave you for all the bad things you had done? As if he actually had the power to absolve you of all your crimes. And then did so without your consent. How would that feel?"

The Master could tell that Moriarty was trying to play it off as nothing, but the spasm of anger and fear that had first flashed across his face gave him away. "I would have just killed him."

"Uh-huh. Sure," the Master said dismissively. Before she could say anything further, Moriarty pulled a gun out of one of the desk drawers and levelled it at the woman in front of him.

"I was willing to listen to what you had to say, Master, but I will not tolerate being patronized in my own house."

The Master was unconcerned. "Take it easy, hot stuff, I'm just messing around with you. If you want revenge on Sherlock Holmes, I can make sure that happens. I'm just trying to get you to think bigger than that. We could rule this world and all you seem to care about is getting back at one single person. Forgive me if my aspirations are a little higher."

"I'd be careful, Master, if I were you because I've got this gun and my finger could so easily slip-"

_Ding-dong._

"Now that will be my lovely companion so why don't you put away that gun so you don't scare her. She is a lady and you wouldn't want to appear ungallant, would you, Mister Moriarty?"

"Are you not a 'lady' too?" Moriarty asked wryly, but he did slip the gun back into the drawer.

The Master winked at him, "I wouldn't get very far if I were."

Jenna was shown into Moriarty's office, her bright wool sweater a sharp contrast to the dark and muted colours of the room and its occupants. She smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, I know I'm a little early, but I got bored."

The Master turned to face her after composing herself. "Bored, Jenna? Really? You're on a new planet!"

"Well, yeah, but I don't have any money. I mean, I had some spare change from Aednore that must resemble the money used here, enough to buy something to eat anyway. But it turns out that you can't do much without it."

"Okay, well then it looks like introductions are in order. Jenna, this is my contact here on Earth, Mister James Moriarty. He's going to help us take down the Oncoming Storm. Mister Moriarty, this is Jenna, my companion and good friend. She's just as eager to help with this plan as you are, I'm sure."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Moriarty," Jenna said and put out her hand.

"Jim, please," he replied, all charm and smiles.

As the two shook hands the Master shot Moriarty a look, over Jenna's shoulder, which the other interpreted (correctly) as a sign that he should not mention that the 'plan' included taking over the world. That Jenna was not to be included in the full plan was an interesting and potentially useful bit of information. Moriarty knew well that only the boss should know the full plan but he was a little surprised to see that dynamic in play between two people who claimed to be friends. Maybe he could have some fun with them after all.

"Well," the Master said, clapping her hands together, "I think it's about time than Jenna and I got going. We've got to find somewhere to stay for the night and I need to explain The Plan in a bit more detail. It'll be good to be working with you, Mister Moriarty." The Master nodded to their host and, grabbing Jenna's hand, led her out of the house.

"So, what exactly  _is_  The Plan?" Jenna asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Eager little thing, aren't you? Alright, then. Mister Moriarty has a special machine (which he stole) that grows clones. We will use a clone to get close to the Oncoming Storm, find out his weaknesses and such - they're not well known at the moment - and then we'll know the perfect way to bring him to justice. In return, we will be helping Mister Moriarty with his own revenge on his arch nemesis. My contacts also believe that this  _Sherlock Holmes_ ," the Master spat the name like it tasted bad, "has been helping the Oncoming Storm here on Earth. His agent, so to speak. Mister Moriarty doesn't know this, of course; he's smarter than most humans, but that's not exactly saying much. Anyway, he has his reasons for revenge and, though they might seem petty, he's got the cloning chamber. In order to take down this entire network, we're going to have to work our way through the ranks."

"Right. What will I have to do?"

"Up until the final confrontation, not a whole lot. Mainly just make sure that the bodies we're cloning are stable and don't have a heart attack or anything. I know it doesn't sound exciting," the Master added, seeing the disappointment in Jenna's face, "but it's actually the most important job. You'll be helping bring the targets in for cloning where your look will go over better than mine, and basically just doing whatever we need you to. Do you think you're up for it?"

Jenna looked the Master in the eyes and squared her shoulders, "You bet I am!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So there you have it, episode 2. The Master is back and her and Jenna are all set to take on the world with the help of a certain consulting criminal. Next episode will contain the first appearance of everyone's favourite detective and suspicious black car so stay tuned! Also, I'd love to hear what you lovely readers think of it so far so don't be shy about leaving a comment :) See you next time and thanks for reading!


	6. Episode 3, part 1: Mrs Hudson

In a different part of London, but not terribly far from where Jenna and the Master had met Moriarty, a tall man in a long dressing gown that was the counterpart of his long coat was informing a certain detective inspector that he was far too busy at the moment to be bothered with ordinary murder.

"But we need your help," Lestrade was saying, knowing that it was useless to try and convince the great Sherlock Holmes to do something he didn't want to, but not being able to stop himself from trying all the same.

"You always need my help, Grayson. Honestly, it's a wonder you can find your way here without my help. Now go away." Sherlock was being unusually snappish today because the serial killer he was tracking hadn't killed anyone yet; a deviation from his established pattern. Until Sherlock had more clues, he was stuck.

"Please, Sherlock. We're desperate."

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at the yellow smiley face on the wall, spun around and grabbed his coat. "Honestly, though, when are you not? If I help you now, you leave me alone for the rest of the week. And this had better be at least an eight," he said over his shoulder as he clattered down the stairs, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" Mrs Hudson called, coming around the corner to the front door. "Are you going out again? I thought tonight-"

"Yes, Mrs Hudson, I am," Sherlock huffed. "Apparently the police are, once again, out of their depth and must rely on me to get them out of the hole in which they find themselves." He didn't wait for her to respond and rushed out the door, nearly tripping over the young woman on the front step with her hand raised toward the knocker.

* * *

—  _About an hour earlier_  —

"Alright, today we will begin phase one of The Plan," the Master said as Jenna dried her short, dark hair in the hotel bathroom. The Master was pacing the floor of their bedroom, back and forth between the two beds until it made Jenna dizzy. "You're going to have to do most of the work, I'm afraid, Jenna."

"Why?"

"Because you look sweet and kind and your target is an old lady. If I go up to her door, she's going to think I'm there to rob her," the Master said, gesturing to her wild hair, dark makeup, and combat boots. "But you - with your pink and your wool and your flats - should have no trouble convincing her to invite you in for tea or something."

Jenna finished with her hair and sat down on the bed opposite the Master, who sat down too. "But why an old woman? I thought we were fighting murderers and psychopaths?"

"We are, but like I said before, we have to go through the ranks. This is the first. Relax, girlie, the old woman will be fine. I promise, cross both my hearts. But we do need to gather a bit more information and old Mrs Hudson is exactly how we can accomplish that. Besides, if we're going to pull this off, we need to practice using the chamber, manipulating the clones through it, and making sure that our real targets don't notice anything strange."

"O-okay. I still don't know if I like the idea of kidnapping an old lady," Jenna said, playing with the sleeve of her sweater.

The Master sighed deeply and sat down beside her on the bed. "We're not really kidnapping her so much as borrowing her. And really, really, I wouldn't be asking you to do this if it wasn't necessary. And, on top of everything, that's why I'm sending you to do this; you're not just going to appear sweet, you really are that way. Alright?"

Jenna nodded but didn't look at the other woman as she did so. The Master hardly noticed because she had leaned back over the side of the bed and grabbed up a black backpack. She dug around for a minute and then pulled out a mobile phone.

"Here. My number is already programmed into it. When you've got Mrs Hudson in a position where we can get to her, send me a text or call or something. Just let us know that you're ready. My suggestion? There's a cafe on one side of the building, get her in there; it'll be easier than inside her flat. "Ready?"

Jenna nodded again and followed the Master out of the hotel to where a black car was waiting. She climbed in and watched the scenery pass by as they headed to Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock grabbed the young woman by the shoulders and spun her around to keep her from falling. She had dark, curly hair and intense dark eyes. Her skin was dark too, highlighted by her pink tank top and brightly coloured cardigan. She smiled nervously as she regained her balance. Sherlock said nothing but turned away and raised his hand for a cab, his mind already at the crime scene.

The young woman, however, lingered in front of 221b trying to decide between the knocker and the doorbell. After a minute, she decided on the knocker. It banged once, twice, before it was answered by an older woman wearing a gray skirt and a ruffled purple blouse.

"Oh, hello. If you're looking for Sherlock, I'm afraid he's just left."

"Yes, I know. He nearly bowled me over. But I'm not actually looking for him. You're Mrs Hudson, right? My name is Jenna, I was referred to you by a friend. I'm looking for an apartment in this area of the city and was hoping that you had one available, or knew of someone who might," Jenna said, trying to sound believable.

"Well, dear, I do have one flat still available but it's going to need a lot of work; it's in the basement. But why don't you come in and we'll have a cuppa and talk it over?"

Before Jenna could respond, her stomach did a flop and growled. She smiled apologetically at Mrs Hudson. "Sorry, haven't had lunch yet."

"Then let's go next door and I'll fix you something while we talk."

Jenna followed the woman into the cafe and sat, watching silently, as she pulled together sandwiches to go with their tea. Jenna slowly pulled out the mobile phone the Master had given her that morning and dialled a number. It rang twice and then she ended the call. When Mrs Hudson was finished, she joined Jenna at the table.

"Now, dear, you were saying something about a flat?"

"Actually, I-" Jenna's response was cut off as two men, dressed in military gear, burst into the cafe. Their uniforms were black and they wore matching red berets.

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes?" she had jumped when the men crashed through the door, but seemed to have regained her composure.

"You're to come with us, please."

She stood, "If this is Mycroft Holmes, I swear-"

"It's not Mycroft, ma'am. Come with us."


	7. Episode 3, part 2: Borrowed, Not Stolen

**I just wanted to apologize that I haven't updated this in a while; life gets in the way like that. Anyway, here you go and thanks for sticking around! Enjoy!**

* * *

Mrs Hudson was led to a fancy town car with darkened windows, almost identical to the ones she often saw pulling up outside of Baker Street. The two soldiers ushered her inside, forcing her to sit in the middle between them. Jenna got into the front seat.

"Is this a kidnapping?" Mrs Hudson asked, calmer than Jenna had expected.

"Uh, no, Mrs Hudson. Sort of a…borrowing really. I promise, you won't be hurt. Cross my-" Jenna began to say before Mrs Hudson cut her off.

"Is this about money? Because I'll need to phone some people but I can pay for myself, thank you."

"No, this isn't about money. Just…relax for a bit, Mrs Hudson."

The soldier on the left pulled out a white cloth that filled the car with a sickly sweet smell. Chloroform. Mrs Hudson was out soon, her head slumping to the soldier's epaulet.

Jenna settled back into the leather seat, knowing that she was doing what was necessary to bring down the Oncoming Storm, but not being able to shake the feeling that maybe they were going about it the wrong way.

* * *

When Mrs Hudson woke up, her wrists and ankles were tied down to a strange sort of stretcher on wheels. She could feel a metal band around her head and wires snaking off to somewhere. Wherever she was, it was mostly dark; there were a few lights dotted around. She could see an 'exit' sign so they had brought her to some kind of public building, but the lights were off in a way that suggested that it was not open to the general population. Despite her current predicament, Mrs Hudson smiled a little to herself. Sherlock's deductions might be a source of consternation for many people - herself included - but she was grateful that she had picked up enough to help her in this situation. Not that she could do much with the information she now had, but it was a comfort anyway, like perhaps Sherlock himself wasn't far away.

"So, Mrs Hudson," a cold, female voice spoke out of the dark, "it's time we got know your detective a little better, don't you think? And Jenna does need so much practice with the machine, if we're going to bring down a virus plaguing the universe."

Then everything went black.

—||—

"Alright, she's under," Jenna said as the lights flickered on. She was sitting in an office chair in a comfortable boardroom. Not exactly the kind of place one would expect to find an alien cloning chamber…or aliens themselves, for that matter.

Mrs Hudson lay on the coffin-shaped stretcher, the band around her head filled with wires leading to a large, square tank. The small crack between the bottom and the lid of the tank glowed with an eerie turquoise light. The Master stood by the door, watching Jenna flip switches and turn dials, just like she had been taught. Finally, she flicked a switch and a gurgling sound could be heard, like a kid blowing bubbles in their chocolate milk or like a tea kettle before it starts to whistle.

"You didn't have to do that," Jenna commented, half turning toward the Master behind her.

"Do what?"

"The super evil voice. I mean, she's just a sweet old lady. I know we need her for this plan and stuff, but I feel bad."

"Oh, come on Jenna, lighten up. I was just having a bit of fun. And besides, when we return her to Baker Street, she won't even remember."

"Okay," Jenna said a little sadly.

Moriarty arrived just as steam began to hiss from under the lid. "You started without me?" he pouted.

"Ah, Mister Moriarty. Decided to join us, at last, I see. Well, you can't really blame us for going ahead; we couldn't exactly wait while you wasted time doing- what were you doing all this time?" the Master said, folding her arms and looking slightly annoyed.

"That, I believe, is not any of your business. It was to do with my own particular line of work. I had an appointment with someone who wanted my advice on a rather personal subject. I, being the good soul that I am, obliged," Moriarty said, exchanging a look with the Master that went unnoticed by Jenna who was concentrating on the dials and numbers in front of her.

"Well then. It shouldn't be a surprise that we carried on without you, since you were obviously busy with much more important matters. Besides, you don't really need to know how to work the machine since Jenna has picked it up rather quickly."

"You could at least tell me what you've done to my machine," Moriarty replied sulkily.

"Are you sure you'll understand?"

"You'd hate for me know, wouldn't you? You don't want to tell me because you're afraid I'll understand perfectly."

"Of course when you put it like that, you don't sound like a whining child at all. Alright, I'll tell you. Not only have I fixed the problem of the clone smelling like a clone, I've made the whole machine more efficient. However, because of that, we've had to give up some things. Namely, the ability for the clones to do much on their own. Before, you could give them basic commands and the psyche of the original person would interpret that and send instructions to the clone-body. Because of the changes I've made, this is not going to happen the same way. We could arrange it so that whatever instructions we have get sent directly to the clone and by-pass the original completely, but then they will literally do what we tell them and nothing more. They can do a bit on their own, enough to fool a casual observer or a closer acquaintance if they were under severe emotional strain but they certainly won't hold up to close inspection. There is a good chance our mannerisms and vocal patterns, for example, could be copied. I hope you can understand why that simply won't do. We need everyone else to believe that the clones are the originals. So, I've fixed it up so that one of us sends the instructions and commands to the original person who interprets them and then sends that interpretation on to the clone-body. A little more complicated, perhaps, but far more realistic. Plus, should have the added bonus of letting us in on a bit of the information inside the original's head. Information that we might be able to use. Now, I trust that wasn't too far over your head, Mister Moriarty."

"And you thought  _that_  would be too complicated for me to understand? Oh, Master, I think you've vastly underestimated my intelligence, which just might be your undoing."

"Really? I think you've vastly  _over_ estimated your intelligence if that's the best comeback you've got."

Moriarty had pulled out his phone while the Master had been speaking and now he glanced up from it briefly, "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. There was a text from someone vastly more important that couldn't wait."

"I seriously wouldn't recommend playing this game with me, Mister Moriarty."

Instead of answering, Moriarty had drifted over to look at the sleeping figure of Mrs Hudson. "Ugh, she's so old. I can't stand old people - boring. And they smell funny."

"You won't have to smell her if you leave," the Master commented, trying to sound innocent and failing.

"And let you have all the fun? Nah." Moriarty wandered back to where Jenna was sitting. He pulled up a chair and watched her work.

After a minute or so, she stopped and looked at him. "Sorry, just could you maybe move back a little? It's kind of hard to work with you right over my shoulder."

"Sorry," Moriarty said, rather distantly, but didn't move.

"She said to move," the Master said in such a cold voice that even Jenna shivered and goosebumps popped along her arms.

Moriarty stood up so fast that the chair flew out from beneath him, crashing to the floor. He and the Master were about the same height and they stared into each other eyes; almost black boring into honey brown. Jenna tried to watch the showdown over her shoulder but needed to keep a close watch on the dials to make sure that the clone didn't get too much or too little of anything.

There was complete silence as the staring game between the two grew into a play for dominance. Jenna got caught up in watching the two, so similar but so different. A minute went by. Two minutes.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Everyone jumped and Jenna turned back to the controls just in time to bring the nitrogen levels down to where they should be. She grimaced as she realized how close they had been to having to start over. A time delay like that was not ideal since she was only supposed to be taking Mrs Hudson next door, not across town. If they were gone for too long, certain people might start asking questions that the Master would rather remain unanswered.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, then I will leave," Moriarty said, raising an eyebrow and trying to regain his air of nonchalance. "I've got better things to do than sit around here all day while that machine makes another old lady."

Before Moriarty could actually leave, the Master stepped closer and grabbed him by the lapel of his fancy suit. "Listen here, human. We're not just doing this for ourselves, we're trying to help you too. So you can cut the attitude right now because I won't take it. I have waited for far too long to finally be rid of this, this  _menace_  and I'm not going to let a little ape like you stop me. Got it?"

"Okay, easy, princess. I'll play nice," Moriarty said, smoothing down his jacket when the Master finally let go. "For now," he muttered as he exited the room.

Jenna took a deep breath as the tension slowly melted away. "Wow, he is touchy," she commented when the door had clicked shut.

"Hmmm. He is, but I think it's because he's used to being the alpha male. Now he's not," the Master mused as she picked up the chair that had fallen and sat beside Jenna. "It's a tough adjustment for anyone. And he's nervous, I think. But, at the very least, he cares and that's important. Even if he is a bit of an idiot for intentionally irritating me. He'll learn soon enough. Anyway, how's our clone coming along?"

"Pretty well; almost finished, actually. We should probably get the mental relay set up so it has time to integrate with the clone's brain before it's fully formed. Uh, were you going to do that or…"

"Under the current circumstances, I think I'd better."

"Alright then, if you're sure. Mister Moriarty might come back and it's going to take you about a minute to get out of the relay, if you need to."

The Master put her hands on Jenna's shoulders. "I'm sure."

"Okay. Grab that chair and bring it over here."

The Master did so, and Jenna worked on attaching more wires both to the band around Mrs Hudson's head and to the main cable going into the clone. The new headset, however, was a bit nicer - and more advanced - than the cold metal around the older lady's head; it had both headphones and a mike.

"So basically, this is what connects your head and Mrs Hudson's. When information comes back from whatever the clone is doing, it'll travel the same path but in reverse. It'll probably cause a bit of a delay, I don't know. And we won't be certain until we test it out which might be what gives us away, but there's no other option."

"Jenna, it'll be fine. Trust me."

"Okay, here we go," she said and flicked another switch on the control panel.

Immediately, the Master began to scream in pain. Jenna jumped and, abandoning the controls, ran toward her friend.

"Oh no! What's wrong? What's happening? I can't turn it off, I'm sorry! If I do, it might not reconnect and we'll have to start from the beginning!"

The Master stopped screaming and laughed instead. "You should have seen your face! Oh, that was priceless. I'm fine, Jenna. Just having a bit of fun. I mean, it hurts a bit, but I've gone through much, much worse."

Jenna resisted the urge to punch the Master in the shoulder, choosing instead to turn sharply on her heel and march back to the control panel, trying to look as superior as possible while the Master continued to laugh behind her.

* * *

About an hour later, all was ready. The clone of Mrs Hudson - now dressed in her clothes - was waiting by the door and the Master was settled comfortably in her role as god. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen so he must have found something to occupy his attention. Jenna took one last look at the Master (who's eyes were now closed and she looked almost asleep) and hurried out the door.

She climbed into the waiting town car with the clone of Mrs Hudson, thankful that the Master had fixed the odour problem. Mrs Hudson didn't speak much on the way back to Baker Street; Jenna was hoping that it was just shock for both the clone in the car and the 'real' Mrs Hudson back at base and wasn't going to be a permanent issue.

* * *

They pulled up in front of 221 and Jenna helped the woman out of the back seat and into the building. As soon as they were inside, Mrs Hudson began wringing her hands.

"Oh, look at what a mess I've left the place in," she said, hurrying into her flat and closing the door quickly.

"Mrs Hudson? Is that you?" A deep voice called from the second floor. Jenna's eyes grew wide and she looked back and forth between the steps and the clone. Apparently the moment of truth was here sooner than expected and Jenna was right in the middle of it. If Sherlock found something wrong, there was no knowing what he would do.

"Where have you been all this time?" he said, clattering once again down the steps.

Mrs Hudson reappeared at the door of her flat. There was a slight pause before she said, "I've just been next door having a lovely tea with this young lady- I'm sorry, dear, what was your name again?"

"Jenna," the young woman hurried to respond. She tried to keep her face passive as she saw Sherlock eyeing her.

"Oh yes, isn't that nice, Sherlock?"

"Uh, she means that I've come to see about the flat downstairs, I think," Jenna said, resolutely not looking at Sherlock.

"I'm sorry dear, was there something you wanted?" Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock after another slightly obvious pause.

Sherlock suddenly looked very distant, no doubt his mind was still mostly on the case he had just returned from. "No, it's just that you normally bring me tea around this time and it wasn't there when I got back from the crime scene so I-"

"That's very kind of you, but really I'm alright. Just a bit tired is all."

"-Oh, of course!" Sherlock exclaimed, speaking over the woman who was not his housekeeper, "How could I have missed that?" Without waiting for an answer, he clattered back up the staircase taking the steps two at a time.

Jenna breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs Hudson shook her head, smiling, and hurried into her flat to clean up the mess she had left. The young woman returned to the car where she watched London pass by through the window as she hurried her back to base, hoping she would find the Master where she had left her and Moriarty occupying his time elsewhere until he was needed.


	8. Episode 3, part 3: Cause for Alarm

“Mrs Hudson? I’ve brought those pictures of Lily you wanted,” John announced, knocking on her flat door. There was no answer. “Oh, come on! Haven’t I apologized enough for not calling while Sherlock was…away? You invited me over for tea, in case you don’t remember?”

The door opened to a rather flustered landlady (not housekeeper). “Oh, sorry John. I wasn’t sure if I heard someone knock or not. And Sherlock’s been having ruffians in and out all day. Probably his homeless network,” Mrs Hudson explained as she led John into the spotless kitchen and sat down across from him.

He looked back toward the door, “Has he got a case, then?”

“He must. I’m not really sure. He said something about it yesterday but I haven’t seen him yet. He wasn’t awake when I took tea up this morning.”

“Ah, right.”

“You said you brought baby pictures! I couldn’t make it to the hospital - my hip, you know.”

John - the proud father now - pulled out his phone, passed it over and reached for a cup of tea that wasn’t there. “Of course, I understand. She’s called Lily Charlotte. Born last week; eight pounds, eight ounces.”

“And Mary’s doing well?”

“Tired but happy. We all are,” John said distractedly, looking again toward the flat door. There was a loud crash and John jumped up from his chair.

“Honestly, dear, I’d leave him if I were you. He’s probably just dropped a beaker or something. Made a mess of my nice wood floor, of course. You were telling me about little Lily,” Mrs Hudson said, laying a hand on John’s arm and looking pointedly at the phone he had snatched as he jumped.

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I’ve got to see he’s alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll-” and before he could finish the sentence, John Watson rushed out of the flat and, taking the stairs two at a time, burst into 221b.

Sherlock was sitting calmly in his chair, a young man sat in John’s; evidently one of the homeless network. John sighed loudly and then groaned as he looked into the kitchen and saw the smashed remains of a test tube on the floor in a pool of mysterious liquid.

“Oh, John. Hello. I didn’t expect to see you around here for a while now that you’ve got a new baby to occupy your time.”

“I heard a crash? And who is this, sitting in my chair?”

“It was a test tube; Mrs Hudson - I assume she’s the reason you’re here; probably nagged you about baby pictures or something, judging by the screen of the phone in your hand - should have told you. She’s gotten quite good at identifying the sounds made by various objects falling to the floor. As for this young man, this is Zachary Reed. A new member of my homeless network but quickly proving himself invaluable, hence his presence here. He had information on a serial killer I’ve been tracking. Thank you, Zachary,” Sherlock dismissed the young man who hurried out of the flat without looking back.

“You’ve got a new case, then?”

“Obviously. I’ve just told you about it. Were you not listening?”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you made it very clear that Mary was having a child and you didn’t want to be distracted from your duties as a husband and a new father.”

John looked confused. “I don’t really remember saying-”

“Oh right. Sorry, not you: Mary. She told me not to tell you; if I did, she promised she would shoot me again and this time, she wouldn’t miss.”

——||——

“Master?” Jenna touched her friend’s hand gently.

“What is it?” the Master snapped, yanking her hand away to rub her tired, bloodshot eyes.

“It’s just that you can disconnect now, if you want to.”

“Now. Get me out, now.”

“Okay,” Jenna said quietly and lifted the headset carefully from the Master’s dark brown hair, untangling wires and cables. When she was finished, she helped the Master up and placed the band on the vacated chair. Then she helped her out of the room and into another they had set up as a sort of bedroom. “I know you’re tired and everything, but how did it go?”

“It’s much harder than I thought it would be, but it’s the best we’ve got. Evidently nothing too out of place was noticed or one of those humans would have said something. Return the old lady and kill the clone. Drug her so that she doesn’t remember us. Now get out. I need to sleep.”

Jenna didn’t say anything but closed the door softly as she left the room. Collecting the syringe filled with a small dose of an amnesiac, she went back to Mrs Hudson and carefully unhooked her from the machine. The woman woke with a gasp and panic in her eyes as she tried to figure out where she was and why it wasn’t Baker street.

“Shh, Mrs Hudson. Don’t worry. This is just a dream. You won’t remember anything,” Jenna said and stuck the needle in her arm. Within a few moments, Mrs Hudson was asleep again and Jenna was sitting back on her heels, wondering how she was going to get the woman back to Baker street, snatch the clone and get it back here all by herself.

“Well, no time like the present, I guess,” she said to the sleeping woman and got to work.

* * *

 

Once again, the town car with the tinted windows pulled up outside of 221 Baker street. Mrs Hudson was still very much out of it, so the chauffeur - having been given specific instructions - helped Jenna carry her inside the building. Mrs Hudson’s door was unlocked but they went carefully to avoid the notice of a certain consulting detective who was just up the stairs. Jenna had to resist the urge to stare up at them, waiting to be discovered by a creaky floorboard or the too-loud sound of a door closing.

The clone of Mrs Hudson was sitting at the table, just where she had been talking to John when he left to run upstairs. There was a blank look to her face and her eyes were glazed over, unblinking. They walked past her to lay Mrs Hudson on her bed. When she woke up the next morning, the last few days would be a blur. Once she was settled, Jenna and the chauffeur went back to the kitchen to deal with the clone.

Jenna moved to help her up, but the chauffeur stuck out his arm. Without saying a word, he shook out what looked like an old, stained drop cloth on the floor around the chair. Then he pulled a silenced, small-calibre pistol out of his suit jacket and shot the clone in the head. Jenna had to hold onto the back of one of the chairs as she felt her stomach flip over. Oddly, she noticed that there was less blood than she had would have expected, if she could have expected it. It dripped onto the cloth, joining the other, alarmingly similar stains.

Still completely silent, the chauffeur picked up the clone like it was a sleeping child, quietly carried it out to the car and opened the door for Jenna to join it in the back seat. She climbed into the front and tried not to think about what she had just witnessed. He shrugged his shoulders and went back inside for the cloth. After a minute, he returned, tossed the stained cloth in the back seat with the clone, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

They drove along for a few minutes with neither one of them talking. Finally, Jenna couldn’t take it anymore.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” The chauffeur’s voice was deep and slow.

“You didn’t have to shoot her. Without being connected to the ‘real’ Mrs Hudson, she would have died naturally. You didn’t have to shoot her.”

“Didn’t have a choice. Orders are orders.”

“You always have a choice,” Jenna said to the window, so quietly that it was doubtful the chauffeur even heard her.

“Besides, easier to carry.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

* * *

 

When they got back to base, Jenna was surprised to be greeted by the Master who was waiting by the door for her.

“Jenna, my lovely companion! You’re doing an excellent job, you know.”

“W-what are you doing up? When I left, you were practically dead.”

“Nah, just a little nap was all I needed. Faster recovery time, you see. Come in; I made tea.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jenna said angrily.

“I thought you liked tea? And you don’t have to drink it if-”

“I don’t mean the tea!” Jenna said, almost shouting now. “I mean you didn’t have to order the chauffeur to shoot the clone in head. She would have died here; we could have made her comfortable.”

The Master just looked confused. “I didn’t order him to but,” she said, turning to the chauffeur who had followed them inside, “good thinking, Alastair. You’re smarter than I thought.” The Master winked.

“He’s really not.” Moriarty appeared in the doorway to the control room. “I ordered him to kill the clone; makes things much easier…less messy.”

“In that case, Mister Moriarty, I must congratulate you on being the one smarter than I had expected. Well done, you.”

“Ugh, you both are impossible!” Jenna shouted and rushed to the room she had claimed as a bedroom. It took all her self-control not to knock them both to the ground.

* * *

 

About ten minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” Jenna grumbled as the Master entered and sat beside her on the bed.

“Jenna, I know you’re upset and you have every right to be. What Mister Moriarty and Alastair did was wrong. I mean, it was clever and really shows a lot of forethought, but there was a better way to go about it. I’m sorry. I know this is hard, but it’s what has to be done if we’re going to save, not only this planet, but the universe too. I promise, though, that no more clones will be shot like that, okay?”

Jenna said nothing but nodded.

“That’s my girl,” the Master smiled, kissing the top of her head and then smoothing back her hair. Jenna immediately felt like a child and the tears she had been holding back began to stream down her face. She sobbed into the Master’s shoulder as she rubbed her back, gently. As such, Jenna did not hear the door open slowly for Moriarty to poke his head in.

He shot a questioning to look to the Master who answered with a roll of her eyes. The door shut softly and the Master waited, albeit impatiently, for Jenna to stop. After a few minutes, it was too much.

“Jenna? I know you’re upset but you need to stop now, alright? We’ve got work to do and I want you to be at your best. It’s the only way this is going to work. You need to do your job, just like I need to do mine.”

Jenna sniffled and nodded, sitting back but not able to look the Master in the face. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. We all have our moments. What’s important, though, is to have those moments at the right time. If you’re going to have a moment, now is a better time than when we’re in the middle of an operation, but you need to control your feelings. We don’t want them getting out of hand and ruining something, right?”

Jenna nodded.

“Good girl. Now get some sleep; tomorrow we work out our next steps.”

——||——

Inside the TARDIS, a light began to flash. It was a rather new light, conspicuous among the old machinery but also fittingly haphazard. When the Doctor failed to notice the flashing light, the TARDIS decided to help him along by emitting a very sudden, and very shrill, whine. The Doctor jumped up from where he had been sitting on the step, managing to bang his head on the edge of the console before leaping around to find the source of the noise. Donna emerged from where she had been searching for a particular hat she had brought with her when she first began travelling with the Doctor.

“What did you do this time?” Donna bellowed as she entered the control room.

“I didn’t do anything!” the Doctor shouted back, fighting to be heard above the noise.

“Well, fix it!”

“I’m trying to but I don’t know where it’s coming from!”

The Doctor finally found the flashing light and flipped a switch beside it. The whining stopped. He slumped into the chair across from the console and Donna joined him.

“What was that?” she exclaimed, the air still ringing with the echo of the sound.

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, “That was an alarm I put in a while back, before you started travelling with me. Before I’d met you, actually. I’d forgotten about it until it went off, which was probably why I put an alarm there in the first place.”

“Yeah, but what’s it for?”

“Oh, um, it’s not actually very good news, I’m afraid. It means the Master is back,” the Doctor explained slowly. Before Donna had a chance to ask any questions about who the Master was, the Doctor continued talking but so fast that Donna could hardly keep up. “But how can he be back? He died. I watched him. He can’t be. But it’s coded to his genetic pattern; even if he regenerated - which is highly unlikely - it would still track him. I don’t understand.”

“But, Doctor, slow down. Who is this ‘Master’ anyway? What are you talking about?”

“The Master is another Time Lord, Donna. One that I thought dead and gone.”

“But if he’s around, isn’t that a good thing? You’re not alone anymore.”

“Oh Donna, I wish that were true, but it’s not. The Master is bad. Very bad. And the last time we met, people got hurt and he died. Donna, he died. How could he be back?”

“I don’t know, Doctor. I suppose we could go and find him and ask.”

“Not yet, we can’t. The signal isn’t strong enough to follow yet. We have to wait until we know, at least, where he is. The when will be a little easier at that point. No, Donna, the only thing we can do now, is wait.”


	9. Episode 4, part 1: Don't Wake the Baby

“Oh right. Sorry, not you: Mary. She told me not to tell you; if I did, she promised she would shoot me again and this time, she wouldn’t miss.”

As tired as he was, John laughed. “Yeah, I thought she might have said something. Speaking of my lovely wife, I should probably be getting back. I just came ‘round to show Mrs H those pictures of Lily,” John said, not sounding like he wanted to leave. At all.

“Yes, you probably should. It is my understanding that babies take a lot of attention and you wouldn’t want to leave it all for Mary to do. Especially since she was the one doing all the work during the birthing-”

John held up his hands, “Yes, alright, Sherlock. I’m a doctor, I know. Also, I was actually there.” There was pause as Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin and John, despite his words, made no move to leave.

“So, uh, what’s the case about then?” John finally asked, trying very hard not to sound interested and failing miserably. He wandered over to the wall where Sherlock had pinned maps of London and pictures of people and places apparently related to the case.

“Serial killer.”

“Any leads?”

“A few.”

“Going to follow them?”

“Not now. Need to think. Get out.”

John sighed deeply and, since he couldn’t think of a way to prolong his stay - at least, not one that didn’t include getting something thrown at him - he left. Hurried down the stairs, thought about saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson but her door was closed, and hailed a cab outside.

* * *

 

“John? Oh good, you’re home. Lily needs her diaper changed,” Mary called from their daughter’s bedroom as soon as John opened the door of their flat. He made his way to where Mary was rocking a little baby in her arms.

“How was Mrs Hudson?” she asked as she passed the bundle over.

“About the same as ever, still has ‘a hip’, if I remember correctly. Though, she did seem a little-” John stopped as Lily began to cry, surprisingly loud for such a small pair of lungs. He finished with the diaper changing, wrapped her up tight again and handed her back to Mary who began to rock her to sleep. John sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall as Mary hushed their daughter, singing to her quietly under the crying.

“She seemed a little what?” she asked when Lily finally began to relax.

“Huh?” John sat up groggily.

“Mrs Hudson. You were saying that she seemed a little, and then you stopped. She seemed a little what?”

“I’m sorry, Mary, I don’t really remember. But, um, I did want to ask you something.”

“Sherlock told you about the case, didn’t he?” she asked, half smiling. “I told him not to, that-”

“No, no he didn’t,” John said hastily. “I mean, it was pretty obvious since he had stuff pinned to the walls; maps and photos and things. But he said that you’d told him not to tell me. The only information that I was able to get was that it was a serial killer. I would have tried for more but he had disappeared into his Mind Palace before I could ask anything else.”

“Oh,” was all she said in response. There was a long pause, then Mary laughed “Alright, go on then. I know you need your adrenaline fix.”

John smiled, still tired but less sleepy now. “But,” continued his wife, “if something happens to you, understand that I will kill both you and Sherlock. I don’t care about circumstances, I don’t care about blame. You will both die.”

“Won’t that rather defeat the point of something not happening to me?” John asked, all mock innocence.

“If I wasn’t holding this beautiful baby and if I wasn’t so bloody tired, I’d punch you for that, John Watson. Now, go tell your husband that you’ll be back tomorrow to sniff out the trail of his serial killer.”

“He’s not my husband.”

“Well…”

“Oh, shut up.”

Mary just laughed quietly as John left the room. He pulled out his phone to text since he knew that, if Sherlock was in his Palace, there was no guarantee that he would even hear a phone ringing, let alone answer it.

**Talked with Mary. Be back tomorrow  
** **to help with the case. If you want. - JW**

Surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long for a response.

**By ‘talked with’, do you mean ‘got her  
** **permission’? - SH**

John decided not to reply. As he was brushing his teeth, he received another text.

**Fine. Yes, I would like**   
**your help. Mediocre observations**   
**can be quite useful to me, as I’ve**   
**told you before. - SH**

**I’m not even going**   
**to respond to that. Good**   
**night, Sherlock. - JW**

**You realize that in saying that,**   
**you have actually responded, right? - SH**

**Oh, wait, is this you trying to be clever?**   
**It’s so difficult to tell over**   
**text. Try harder next time. - SH**

**Clearly you have gone to bed. Probably**   
**a good thing as you’ll need the energy;**   
**it appears our killer might also be a**   
**professional runner. Shouldn’t pose too**   
**much of a problem, except for the weight**   
**you’ve gained recently. - SH**

**Oh, fine. Good night, John.**   
**Baker street. 8am. Might be**   
**dangerous. - SH**

* * *

 

John woke with a start; there was someone knocking on the front door. He looked at the clock on the night table, blinking until his eyes focused on the red numbers: 2:42. He rolled onto his back and hoped that, if he ignored them, they would just go away. The knocking continued and John was tempted to just let whoever it was keep knocking all night, if it suited them, but then he remembered that he had a daughter who was notoriously difficult to get to sleep and might wake up if the knocking continued much longer. With a faint groan, he threw back the covers and got out of bed carefully to avoid waking Mary.

“Wha is’t?” Mary asked sleepily when she felt John move.

Rubbing his tired eyes, John replied, “Probably nothing. Or Sherlock being an-- being himself. I’ll get rid of him. Just go back to sleep.” He stumbled out of their bedroom, half his mind trying to focus on remembering which floorboards were the creakiest and the other half thinking up angry things to say to Sherlock when he finally got to the door.

He yanked it open, expecting to see a tall man in a long coat with a mop of dark, curly hair. The person in front of him was none of those things. First of all, it was a young woman. And she was dressed almost entirely in black; leather jacket, loose tank top, shorts, combat boots. Only her lips were bright pink. Granted, her hair was dark but it fell past her shoulders and appeared unbrushed.

“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong house,” John said, trying to close the door but the woman had stuck her foot in the way.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Doctor Watson,” the woman’s voice was cold and the look in her honey brown eyes sent a shiver down his back. “I think we’ve got exactly the right one.”

* * *

 

It was still dark when Mary woke to her daughter crying. The clock on the table read 5:18. As she rolled out of bed, Mary noticed that John wasn’t there. Maybe he had gotten up before her to check on Lily, but the baby was still crying. She sighed, rubbed her eyes and went to her daughter.

“John?”

No answer. As she past the front hallway, she noticed that John’s coat was missing from it’s hook and his shoes were gone from their usual place. She entered Lily’s room and picked her up, holding her close and whispering to her.

“Well, Lily, it appears that Daddy got a text very early this morning from a certain detective and ran off without even saying goodbye. Although, I shouldn’t really be surprised. After all, part of being in a successful marriage is being there for your partner, supporting them. Especially when there’s a case to be solved and serial killer to be hunted down.

Although, I can’t really blame him, can I? If one of us didn’t have to be responsible, I’d likely be out there too. Maybe it’s better I’m not; I wouldn’t want Sherlock Holmes on my tail. I’m not sure he would be as understanding if my past slowly turned into my present.” Mary laughed, “Maybe next time there’s a serial killer on the loose, I’ll make Daddy stay home and I’ll join Sherlock on the hunt. It would be nice to be out there again, even if I have switched sides.”


	10. Episode 4, part 2: Something Weird

Sherlock stood outside 221, impatiently tapping his foot and obsessively checking his watch. It was 8:30 and John still wasn’t here. He growled in frustration and paced up and down the street, trying to decide if John had changed his mind about coming.

**Did Mary change her mind? - SH**

Just as he hit ‘send’, a cab pulled up and John got out. Sherlock deduced by the state of his hair and mismatched socks that John hadn’t slept well last night or had woken up very early. Probably the baby.

“Good morning, John. Hold the cab,” he said, far more cheery than usual. “I’m glad to see that neither you nor Mary had changed your mind.”

They climbed inside the cab and Sherlock passed on the address to the drive. They rode in silence for several minutes; Sherlock alternating between his phone and his Mind Palace, John staring out at London passing by.

“You’re unusually quiet today, John. You didn’t sleep well last night, obviously, but that’s never been a problem before,” Sherlock said, finally breaking the silence.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” John replied, rubbing his face, “The baby didn’t sleep so I didn’t either.” They lapsed into silence again. Sherlock turned a questioning eye to his friend and frowned a little but didn’t say anything.

After a few minutes, John laughed a little as he said, “Oh, I see. You want me to ask questions because you can’t just tell people things without making them look like idiots first, got it.”

Sherlock started at his friend’s tone, harsher than usual. Not only was John tired this morning, he was grumpy. “No, John-”

“It’s fine. Where are we off to first, then?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course. Go on.”

“Alright. To see the family of latest victim. Lestrade informed me yesterday that there had been another murder and dragged me to the crime scene. Unexpectedly, it was the murder I had been waiting for. It turned out to have been committed by the serial killer I had been tracking. This is his third body so I should be able to establish a stronger link between the victims and therefore get closer to the killer.”

“Who were the first two?”

“Cora Thomas and Hugo Sinclair. She was an assistant to a watch maker, he was the head tailor at Seville’s.”

“And this one?”

“Liam King, one of the Queen’s own. Recently returned home from Iraq.”

“A soldier?”

“Indeed.”

“So who are we going to see. I know you said family, but what does that mean? Wife, brother, girlfriend, what?”

“Sister, actually. Lucy King. Lives in Chiswick. Bit of a recluse, lots of cats. Most people aren’t even aware that she still lives there.”

“But you know.”

“Obviously. Or I know people who know. Zachary Smith was the one to bring her address around. It was a good bit of work, honestly.”

“And what do you think she knows?”

“What?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be going to see her without a good reason. If she’s a hermit, what makes you think she knows something important?”

Another questioning look, another little frown. “Oh, John. I thought you’d have learned more than that by now! Every avenue must be explored, especially when dealing with a serial killer. If I knew what I think she knows, I wouldn’t have to question her, would I? I could save myself the trouble of going all the way out here and use that time to be getting on with more important things.”

* * *

 

The cab pulled up in front of a rather normal looking house, considering its sole occupant. The gardens in the front needed tending and the firmly closed shutters could have used a fresh coat of paint, but it didn’t look like the home of a reclusive cat-lady.

Sherlock walked confidently to the door, eyes scanning every inch of the property, and knocked loudly. The door was opened by a woman in her early to mid-forties, three cats milling around her feet, purring and meowing and generally clamouring for attention.

“H-hello?”

“Lucy King?”

“Yes, that’s me. Sorry, but what are you doing at my door?”

“Not the usual question, but it will do. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Doctor John Watson,” he said, pausing for a moment to allow a gasp of recognition that never came.

“Okay, that’s very nice I suppose, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“Um, right,” Sherlock adjusted to the idea that his woman had no clue who he was. “We’re here to ask you some questions about your brother, Liam.”

“Are you the police?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, we’re not,” Sherlock said, but at the same time that John said, “Something like that.”

The detective shot his friend a quick look, but John was watching Lucy.

“Have the police been here already?”

“Just to tell me that Liam was murdered.”

“Would it be alright if we came in?” Sherlock asked. “I’d rather not discuss things out in the open like this.”

“You’re really not the police?”

“No. I’m a detective and Doctor Watson is my…blogger.”

“Your what?”

“Never mind. Not important.”

Lucy thought for a moment before opening the door wider. “Fine, come in. I don’t have anything for tea, if you were wondering.”

“Not at all,” John said quickly. Sherlock was too busy taking in every detail of the house as Lucy led them into the living room and gestured to the sofa. John and Sherlock sat.

“So, Sherlock, since you like to get right the point, allow me to do it for you. Back to your murdered brother, Miss King?” John said, getting straight to the point. Sherlock’s eyes widened but he swallowed his shock with a pointed cough.

“I think what John means to say is that you’re taking the news of your brother’s death remarkably well.”

Lucy shrugged. “He was a soldier, went off to war. Haven’t seen him since he left when he was 18; we wrote letters back and forth but they stopped about a year ago. Figured he had been killed in action. Didn’t even know he was alive until the police came to tell me he had been murdered.”

“He didn’t send a letter to say he was coming home?” Sherlock asked, “Nothing at all.”

“I’m afraid not. It’s too bad - I would have liked to see him again. But he had always been a bit of lone wolf, never one for hanging around with his little sister.”

“How old were you when he left?” John asked.

“About 14, just starting high school.”

Sherlock sighed and stood. “Well, Miss King, I’m worry to have wasted your time. If you do think of anything that might be useful for us to know about your brother, or if you find anything out about his short time back in London, would you let me know?” Sherlock handed over a scrap bit of paper with his phone number on it. “I’d be incredibly grateful.”

“I can’t say it’s likely that I’ll learn anything, but if I do, I will certainly let you know.”

“Thank you very much. Come on, John. We should leave Miss King in peace and it’s time I make some enquiries of my own. My condolences for your loss.”

“Right, so where are we off to next?” John asked as they climbed into another cab.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, “Missed this, have you? Actually, we’re going to have to split up. I need to get to Bart’s and run some tests, you need to go back to Baker Street and look through the files I’ve got, see if there’s any connection between the three victims; there has to be one. Do you mind if I take a DNA sample? I’ll use it as a control against the tests I run.” Before John could do more than raise his hands in protest, Sherlock had stuck a cotton swab inside his mouth and then, just as quickly, tucked it into a plastic bag and put it in his coat pocket. “Thanks. Stay at Baker Street until I text in case I need you to look something up.”

Sherlock waited until John was in a cab back to central London before finding a cab for himself. As he gave the address for Bart’s, Sherlock allowed himself a small chuckle.

“I’ll need it as a control,” he said quietly, “That was good.”

* * *

 

As was his custom, Sherlock didn’t so much enter the lab as burst into it.

“Molly? I need your help,” he said before he even knew for sure that she was there. Well, he knew she was working today and he knew that she hated her office and had, more than once, caught her doing paperwork in the lab, sometimes the morgue.

“Oh, Sherlock. Um, hi. I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“I didn’t either. Bit of an emergency. Actually, don’t have time to run the tests myself right now; serial killer on the loose. But, Molly,” his attention focused in on her and he swung her around by the shoulders, “that’s where you can help me.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said, wriggling out of his grip and grabbing the worktable to steady herself. “What in the world is going on? You don’t even know if I have time to help you or not.”

“Of course I know. I checked your list today and you’re almost entirely free this afternoon. Besides, this is something much more interesting than even the most mysterious of deaths,” he said, pale eyes almost glowing with excitement. “I need you to analyze this,” he held out the little plastic bag with the cotton swab, “and tell me what you find.”

“Who is she?”

“What? Who is who?”

“The woman who’s DNA you want me to test?”

Sherlock laughed a little, “Molly, this is a sample of John’s DNA.”

“O-kay. So why am I testing it?”

“Because I don’t have time.”

Molly sighed, “Why are you testing it at all?”

“He’s been acting strange all day and I want to know why.”

Molly folded her arms. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“You’re the Great Sherlock Holmes and the best you can come up with is ‘something weird’?”

Sherlock sighed. “What happened to the days when you would just do whatever I asked simply because I asked?”

“They passed by in a flurry of insults and fake compliments, culminating in my slapping your face the last time you got high. I’m not eager for them to come back. Are you?”

“Actually, no. But please, will you do this for me?”

Molly did her best not to appear interested, “What do you think I’m going to find, Sherlock?”

“Oh, and spoil whatever surprises might be waiting for you? Never. Honestly, I’m hoping you don’t find anything and that John’s just having a bad day, but I’m very rarely wrong. There’s something there to be found, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m going to need something to test it against. Don’t tell me you have another sample of John’s DNA on file. Though I can’t say it would surprise me anymore.”

“As it happens, I don’t. However, now that you mention it, I can’t believe I’ve overlooked such an important detail. That will certainly be amended at the first opportunity. But no, for today you don’t need a control.”

“What’s going on, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know but I intend to find out. And for that, I need your help.”

“Fine,” Molly said with a sigh but gave herself away by snatching the bag eagerly.

“Interested now, are you?”

“Oh, shut up. I’ll try to have the results by tomorrow.”

“You’re going to stay up late tonight working on it.”

“No, I- yes. Yes, I probably am.”

“Thank you, Molly. Text me when you have the results and I’ll come ‘round. Sorry, gotta dash - serial killers aren’t known for their patience. Well, some of them are, but I don’t think this one is.”


	11. Episode 4, part 3: Something Weirder

Sherlock, of course, was completely right and Molly had (sadly) finished up all of her interesting work that morning and was left with a pile of paperwork to fill out. Well, she had been until Sherlock had breezed in, commandeered her help with barely a struggle and breezed out again.

“At least there weren’t any insults this time. Not really any compliments either, but he did say ‘please’,” Molly pointed out to herself. For as much as she tried to pretend not to care, she was quite interested in why Sherlock would be testing John’s DNA, of all people. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

* * *

 

The RFLP test was only part way finished when Molly stopped it, hands shaking. The DNA was wrong. Such a tiny little error that Molly was actually quite impressed with herself for finding it. But it was- For the first time in almost a year, Molly thought back to the day when her university friend, Martha Jones, stopped by the hospital unexpectedly. She had given Molly a phone number with express instructions that if anything weird started happening, Molly was to call the number.

“Oh, where did I put it?” Molly scrambled to her office, searching through messy piles on her desk and rifling through drawers. Lots of papers but none of them the one she was looking for. As a last resort, she stuffed her hands deep into her lab coat pockets, expecting to find old candy wrappers and pens. Of course, she did find these things, but in the furthest corner of one, was a rolled up bit of paper.

With still shaking hands, Molly pulled it out and smoothed it on the table. Then she took out her phone and dialled the number, hoping that Martha still had her phone, that it was turned on and that she would answer. If anything was going to be weird, it was this.

—||—

“So, Donna,” the Doctor said, flashing a brilliant smile, “where do you want to go next?” He twiddled his fingers over the TARDIS controls like pianist getting ready for a performance. “Oooh, how about Apalapucia? Soaring spires, silver colonnades, and the mirrored Glasmir mountains. The sun shining out of the pinky-purple sky, oh it’s beautiful.”

“Alapalapucia, it is!”

The Doctor laughed, “Ah-pal-ah-poosh-a, Donna. They’re not sticklers for much, the Apalapucians, but they are very careful about the name.”

“Apalapucia,” Donna said, slowly trying the word out.

“Molto bene! Off we-”

Before the Doctor could pull the lever needed to send them hurtling through the Vortex to Apalapucia, a phone rang. The Doctor jumped and snatched up the silver flip-phone from its resting place in a cup holder on the console.

“Doctor? That’s Martha’s phone, isn’t it? But I thought you said she went with Jack to join Torchwood?”

“I did, but if she’s calling it must be- Martha? What is it?”

—||—

Molly waited for the phone to be answered, staring at the test results to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.

“Martha? What is it?” A man’s voice. Molly bit her lip.

“Um, hello. I’m not Martha; I thought this was her phone?”

“It is. Sorry, who are you?”

“My name is Molly Hooper-”

“Where did you get this number, Molly Hooper?”

“I got it from Martha Jones; we were at university together. She gave me this number about a year ago, she said it was in case anything weird started happening.”

“And I take it something weird has popped up?”

“Um, yeah. Sorry, who are you? I thought this was her number.”

“Oh, right. No, her phone but she gave it to me, oh, ages ago now. I’m the Doctor. Listen, where are you Molly? And can you explain what the weird thing is that’s happened?”

“I’m in St Bart’s Hospital in London. And it’s just that I’ve done a DNA test for a friend but the sample he gave me, there’s bits that aren’t human. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Okay, good. Well, not good about the DNA, but good about the location. Now, this is going to sound like a really strange question, but just work with me on it, alright? What’s the date?”

“November 7th.”

“And the year?”

“The year?”

“Yeah, see I’ve sort of got this, well this time machine, so I need to know the date to put into it to get to you.”

“O-okay. 2014.”

“Time?”

“9:30 in the evening.”

“Brilliant. Hold tight, Molly Hooper. I will see you in a few minutes. Hopefully.”

Molly set the phone down gingerly, as if it were a bomb that might explode. Her hands were still shaking as she tried to process what had just happened.

—||—

“So, that wasn’t Martha?” Donna asked as the Doctor replaced the phone and began twirling dials and flipping switches and pulling levers.

“Martha, no. One of her friends apparently. Molly Hooper. Sorry, Donna, Apalapucia will have to wait; 21st century Earth needs us and I’m starting to wonder if this has anything to do with the Master-alarm going off a few weeks ago, do you remember?”

“You think the Master is back on Earth?”

“I don’t know. But if he is, this could get very dangerous, very fast.”

“What did she say the problem was?”

“She found some non-human DNA.”

“Oh. 21st century Earth it is.”

——||——

Before long, Molly heard a strange rasping, wheezing sound coming from nowhere. A light began to shine in the middle of the lab and a blue box materialized beneath it. It actually reminded Molly of a certain, smiling cat in a story her mother used to read to her. It was a police box and it was so blue and so solid and so old that, despite not having existed there a minute ago, it looked like it had always been in the middle of the Bart’s lab.

One of the doors creaked open and a tall, skinny man stepped out wearing a long, beige trench coat over a blue suit. His hair flipped up in the front and - Molly felt her cheeks go red - he was rather attractive. A woman stepped out behind him, and then stepped around him to get a better look at the lab.

“Um, hello,” Molly said, giving them a little wave.

The man looked at her and his smile reached all the way to his warm, brown eyes. “Hello! I’m the Doctor, this is Donna. Are you Molly Hooper?”

“Yes, I am. You’re the one I spoke to on the phone. With the time machine.”

“That’s me. But I see I’m not the only doctor here; forgive me Doctor Hooper, you should have said.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Molly said, waving her hand dismissively. “Call me, Molly, please.”

“Nice to meet you, Molly,” the woman - Donna - said, shaking her hand.

“So, you travelled here in that box thing?” Molly asked, pointing to the object now taking up most of the free floor space.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s called a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. Spaceship, time machine, and all mine! Now, you were saying something about some non-human DNA that you found? That’s even more interesting that my TARDIS. No offense, dear.”

Molly opened her mouth to say something in reply when she realized that the Doctor was talking to the box, not to her.

“He does that a lot,” Donna said quietly.

“What?”

“He talks to the TARDIS a lot. Don’t mind him. Aliens, you know.”

“Wait, you’re an alien?”

“Yes I am. And so is your DNA, Molly. You were right; not human in the slightest. Well done. In fact,” the Doctor said, examining the test results even closer, “I’ve seen this before. I know exactly what’s going on! Well, not exactly, but quite a bit.”

“Just from one test result?” Donna asked.

“Oh yes. Do you remember, Donna, the first time Martha called us? About the Sontarans? Apparently they left something behind. I think the Master is using one of the cloning chambers. Don’t know why. Probably nothing good, though. Where did you get this sample, Molly?”

“Uh, from a friend who took it from another friend. What are the Sontarans?”

“They’re aliens. Different aliens. Not me. I’m a nice alien, here to help! Sontarans, well they’re not exactly bad, but they do live for war. Literally, they are bred to love war; they can’t help it. But they’re not always the nicest, especially in battle. Better than some, certainly, but won’t stop for anything less than death.”

“And you think they’re here? Now?” Donna asked. “Again?”

“No, no, no. I think Doctor Hooper here is smart enough to identify a potato-shaped alien when she sees one but it took a DNA test to prove something was wrong. No, it’s a Sontaran chamber alright, but it’s been modified and not by a human.”

“So, should I maybe call Sherlock, or-” Molly asked, picking up her phone again. “He was the one who brought me the sample.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I need to speak to him. I want to find out everything that’s gone on with the person he took the DNA from.”

**DNA tests are done. You might want to**

**come to the lab for the results. Weird.**

**Really weird. Way more interesting than**

**you promised. - Molly**

The reply was almost instantaneous. Evidently he had been waiting for her text.

**On my way. How weird? - SH**

Molly looked from the TARDIS to the Doctor, still poring over the results, to Donna who smiled at her encouragingly.

**Sort of, hard to say. You might  
not believe me. - Molly**

**Try me. - SH**

**Alien-weird. - Molly**

**…I’ll be there in five minutes. - SH**

“Okay,” she said, turning back to the Doctor and Donna, “He’s on his way.”


End file.
